


Crystal Heroes

by Fran_KT, LostParkMih



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Addiction, Crystal Heroes, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, F/F, Hurt, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Triggers, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:29:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27686965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fran_KT/pseuds/Fran_KT, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostParkMih/pseuds/LostParkMih
Summary: What is the price of war? What were its consequences and how expensive is it to save the wizarding world? Sometimes heroes become as fragile as crystal and they might break, but not everything that is broken is lost
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Hermione Granger
Comments: 14
Kudos: 84
Collections: former tabs





	Crystal Heroes

**Author's Note:**

> Mih here: Hello again guys!  
> Surprise! (Kinda, since a few of you already knew about that)  
> So, after a lot of talking in Fran's ears and launching lots of story plots on her, we decided to make a story of our own. So I'm very, very happy to be publishing this chapter! Also, let me say something very important. Stick to the tags! Seriously, very seriously, for my readers who are used to the natural fluffy and affection that I write this story will be a reality shock, so please, we don't want to trigger anyone, so pay a lot of attention to the tags.  
> My thanks for today go to my dear Fran, who is walking with me through this fic and to DinoBats for the wonderful review work (we would be lost without you)
> 
> Fran here: Hi guys, after discussing with Mih I decided on trying my hand on something darker to my usual fluff/angst so here I am. I am very happy to work with someone as brilliant as Mih that is a monster creating plots and a very good friend. I hope you guys enjoy our story and please let us know if you like it through your reviews. Also, please read the tags as this story might contain a few triggers and is not for the faint of heart.  
> Enjoy!

_The air seemed to sizzle around Hermione, and she just knew what was going to happen now. Bellatrix Lestrange, neé Black, would return from her break and resume her attempts to extract information from her. It was what had been going on for the past who-knew-how-many hours. The storm was still going outside, thunder breaking the silence of the dungeon, and the moisture from the torrential rain seeped into Hermione's bones, chilling her, while she was lying on the ground. She saw flashes of lightning through the single, tiny window above her_ _, the metal bars shining when lightning struck the ground, and rusty flakes fell on Hermione's bare arms and legs_ _._

_The brunette was exhausted, and she felt her blood drain and drip from her arm and off of many other wounds. Her body was sore, and she was well past the point that she no longer cared about her torn clothes or the unsettling feelings of shame and panic. She was giving up. Her wand was taken from her hours ago, and Bellatrix had made a point of breaking and burning the remains of the 10¾ long vine wood wand with a dragon heartstring core. It was a painful and cruel statement of how vulnerable she was. Bellatrix took pleasure in adding to her despair at finding herself alone and in the enemy's lair._

_"It looks like my Muddy pet just might be willing to help now," Bellatrix stated mockingly, approaching the young Gryffindor. Hermione could guess at how pitiful she looked, with how miserable and tiny she was feeling. She hardly felt like herself at all, the brave and intelligent Gryffindor she had always been. Now she’d become just a victim of the war, an experiment for Lestrange’s cruel games and especially a show of suffering for the woman's henchmen to enjoy._

_"Greyback, put her on the chair." The werewolf snarled and Bellatrix did not hesitate to hit him with a Cruciatus curse, a little encouragement to do as he was told. He was now writhing and screaming on the floor. "I don't need to say please, you useless piece of shit. When I give an order, you obey. I hate repeating myself, though I’m happy to provide you with enough incentive until you understand this."_

_She stepped on the man’s hand with the thin heel of her right boot, and he howled in pain. While his body still spasmed from the curse, her knife, corrupted by dark magic, was pressed firmly against the man's neck, and he was compelled to force his body from moving, frightened that she would use the cursed knife on him. Hermione would have been amused by his look of despair, if she weren't in even worse shape. "Now, put the mudblood on the chair."_

_With difficulty, the werewolf lurched to his feet, and pulled and manhandled Hermione onto the designated chair. The rough grabbing and shoving caused the cuts that Bellatrix had made on Hermione's back to open once more. The girl just let out a tiny, broken groan of pain._

_"So tell me, what do you plan to do with the sword?" The tone was sickly sweet, and Bellatrix ran a finger gently over Hermione's cheek. "Come on, you horrible and deplorable little thing, you know you can't win. I'm getting tired of seeing your bruised and grubby body in this disgusting state around me, pet." Bellatrix placed the tip of her wand against Hermione's temple. "Come on,” she cajoled again, “I've gotten bored of physically abusing your body. I want to have fun in other ways now._ **_Legilimens_ ** _."_

_Bellatrix strolled easily through Hermione's childhood memories. The young brunette’s mental shields were worn out by Lestrange's recurring attacks in the past few hours, so she simply relented. The Death Eater slowly stained every little memory she could find. She contaminated them with her voice, whispering that Hermione would never forget her, that she would surrender and accept that she was just a frail, unworthy mudblood. Bellatrix slowly stirred Hermoine's memories, always repeating and demanding to know what they would do with the sword. She also felt Bellatrix’s knife running along her skin, opening thin cuts, which the young woman knew were created this way just to prevent the Gryffindor from dying by loss of blood. Still painful enough for Lestrange to savor her reactions and have fun._

_Hermione had managed to hide the memory of Helga Hufflepuff's cup somewhere in her mind that Bellatrix hadn't yet found, but she knew it was only a matter of time. When Bellatrix got bored of wandering through Hermione's memories and finding nothing, she restarted the_ _torment_ _with Cruciatus, which she cast repeatedly._

_The word carved in the young woman's arm was bleeding steadily, and the curse was like a thousand hot knives piercing her skin. The heat, and at the same time, the icy cold of the dark curse tore through Hermione's nerves. She felt as if her body was being pummeled by nails, and when that stopped, it was as if someone threw alcohol on the wounds. Physically she was unharmed by the curse, but her flailing had reopened the cuts the Death Eater had inflicted and they bled freely, staining her skin with blood._

_"Cissy, get some potions, I don't want my new toy to die so easily," the dark witch ordered suddenly, and quickly Narcissa Malfoy reached for the requested potions for her sister. Without any delicacy or kindness, Bellatrix shoved the bitter liquids down Hermione’s throat. Part of her was happy, because it was the first liquid she had ingested since she was imprisoned. Another part was disgusted because she knew how much that potion would push her death further and further, that meant even more torture._

_While waiting for the potions to take effect, yet another wave of boredom washed over Bellatrix. She looked around the area, and her eyes focused on Wormtail, sitting in the corner looking at his hands. The plump rat-man did his best to remain invisible, but he felt those black eyes focus on him. He looked up quickly, and then stared back down at the floor in fear._

_"Wormtail, come here." The man shuddered and swallowed. "Now." He got up, stumbling and tripped over his own feet, falling on all fours in front of Bellatrix. "Pathetic." She smiled wickedly, pointing her wand at him. "Crucio. Crucio! Crucio!" Hermione could only watch, the man squirming and screaming. Bellatrix liked to hear the screams. The only sound that mingled with Wormtail's cries of agony was the constant thunder cutting through the sky. When she saw that Hermione had regained some color, and the majority of the cuts were now closed, Bellatrix stopped torturing Wormtail and turned back to the brunette._

_"What shall I do with you, mudpet?" She infiltrated Hermione's mind again, and laughed at what the Gryffindor was thinking. "Get it over with? Why would I so easily destroy a fun toy like yourself?" Lestrange then grabbed Hermione by the neck, digging her nails deep into the young woman's throat, and her brown eyes widening in panic at the abrupt lack of air. Hermione tried miserably to hit Bellatrix, which resulted in a thin scratch against the woman's cheek. Hermoine knew then that she was doomed._

_"Oh my, now that just won’t do. That’s not the sort of behavior I expect from a good pet, Muddy." The older woman's voice had hardened. Hermione felt fear and horror travel up her spine and grab hold of her heart. Bellatrix’s mouth clamped down on her neck, leaving teeth marks, while the Death Eater’s nails scraped at all the skin that was exposed, leaving red welts. Hermione despaired. "I'm going to have to show you your place._ **_Again_ ** _. I am going to punish your wretched, disgusting body, and then I'm going to destroy your mind. You'll always remember me when you go through the veil," She declared malevolently, eyes glinting with vengeful intent. The woman grabbed her knife and smiled cruelly._

The sound of thunder tore through air in the small house in the middle of the forest, and Hermione awakened in panic. She had flung herself out of bed, falling on all fours on the floor, struggling to breathe, while crawling to the nearest corner that she could barely see in the great darkness. The main generator had stopped and her nightlight had gone out, leaving her in a blind terror.

Sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, she slowly rocked back and forth. Her eyes were closed tightly, the image of Bellatrix's face still painfully, starkly clear. Though Hermione’s were shut, she brought her hands to her face, and realized that trails of tears had escaped and she was crying.

She focused on taking deep breaths, inhaling and exhaling in a rhythm, and eventually in the background, she heard the generator pop and start running again. The nightlights came back to life, which finally released Hermione from the intense darkness. She managed to breathe more or less steadily for the first time since tumbling out of bed. Her arms and legs itched, and she ran her nails over and over her skin to try to quell the sensation.

She was soaked with sweat, the pajamas she was wearing were sticking against her skin and she felt even more disgusting. With shaky movements, fingers scraping against the wall, and uncertain steps, she moved into the bathroom. When she turned on the light, she sighed with relief at the absence of the mirror. She hated her bathroom mirror, and when she broke it at last, she had never replaced it. With practiced movements and keeping her eyes on the opposite wall, she unbuttoned and removed her pajama shirt and closed her eyes to remove her pants and panties. Hermione threw them all in the right corner of the bathroom, hitting the laundry basket, and turned on the shower at the hottest temperature it could reach.

Trying not to think too much, the Gryffindor went into the shower, soaking her hair and flinching slightly at the water almost scorching her skin. She grunted quietly when she felt some of her bleeding scratches sting a bit. The high temperature of the water helped to remove the itchy feeling however, and certainly left her skin reddened by the heat.

In the hot shower, she felt a little more normal. She lathered up a sponge and her face against the water, washing herself and her hair quickly, and got out of the shower. She then dried her body and her hair speedily and efficiently. She hung her towel over the back of the bathroom door, and pulled on the terrycloth robe she kept there.

Stepping out of the bathroom, she turned on the bedroom light and went straight to her closet. With her back to the mirror once more, she dressed swiftly, tugging on her underwear and donning a long-sleeved T-shirt and knitted pants. Her bare feet padded along the polished wood on the floor. She then finally reached for the wand by the bed.

Except her wand was on the floor. When she’d fallen out of bed in the midst of her nightmare, she had probably smacked the wand off of her nightstand. The wand was constructed of light wood with grooves in a darker tone, and Hermione had gotten it to replace the one Bellatrix destroyed. When Ollivander had presented her with this wand, even he was surprised by the synchronicity between the witch and the wand. Made of elm wood, it was inclined to those who have a presence and magical dexterity, and itself some native dignity. It was a wand material that produced the least number accidents, the least silly mistakes, and the most elegant and charming spells. It was sophisticated and capable of high-level magic. 

The magical core was quite rare, a mix of two items; a chimera scale fragment, and a strand of Thestral tail hair. Chimera scales are prized for their raw power, although they are difficult to control, while Thestral tail hairs produce strong magic for Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Transfiguration. Thestral wands can be very temperamental, and are directly affected by the owner's beliefs.

Hermione sighed deeply. With her wand in hand, she cast a quick tempus spell and saw that it was five in the morning. The Gryffindor knew herself and was aware she probably wouldn't be able to fall asleep again for the next few hours, so she decided to do something productive.

She went down the stairs of the small country house as the storm continued to pummel the walls and the roof. Hermione stretched her neck, trying to relax. She walked slowly to her kitchen, and unexpectedly, she pulled out a coffee maker instead, and in a short time the house was filled with the scent of fresh coffee.

With a wave of her wand, the ingredients for an omelet floated out from the fridge and onto the stove, and in a few minutes the brunette was sitting at the kitchen table, eating a modest breakfast. With another spell and a new mug of coffee, Hermione now headed for the office at the end of the hall.

The brunette was reaching for the door handle when she felt a slight disturbance in her magical protections. Frowning and placing her coffee mug on a nearby cabinet, she pulled out her wand, cast _silencio_ , and opened the door. The room was dark, and Hermione discerned a figure near the window through the door that was ajar. Whoever was there had not noticed the Gryffindor's presence. 

The brunette conjured a _bombarda_ and the vase beside the figure shattered loudly. An owl's startled chirp rang out, along with the sounds of wings flapping and the thud of a body crashing against the right wall. The brunette then tapped the light switch, illuminating the room. She saw a big brown owl, terrified in the corner of the room, with goose-down feathers, wet, and with small pieces of ceramic scattered around her body. 

"Oh, for Morgana’s sake, I'm sorry!" The brunette said, crouching down next to the animal that flinched. "I'm sorry, are you hurt?" The owl hooted in alarm, and peered at Hermione with big yellow eyes. "Let me see if you are injured, please?" She held out her hand cautiously and the owl gradually calmed enough that Hermione wouldn't be pecked.

Hermione slowly gestured with her wand, casting a spell to clean and dry the owl, while her fingertips went over the animal's body, looking for any sign of blood or injury that she could heal. She sighed with relief when she noticed that, except for the scare, the owl was in perfect condition. With another wave of her wand, she cleared the mess she had created back to clean, organized normality. The owl hooted timidly and Hermione took the letter tied to its leg and summoned food and water for the bird.

“I am sorry again little one,” the brunette told it quietly.

She stroked the owl's head, which was once again calm and its feathers smoothed down normally. Hermione then, with the letter in hand, began to read in a low voice.

“Dear Miss Granger,

We humbly request your presence at Gringotts Wizarding Bank for updates on the blood ward and protection magics of your vault. We also require you to formally register your professional pseudonym so that your deposits are made as requested in your previous letter.

Sincerely, 

Ataruk 

Director of Vault Security”

"Well, fuck. Looks like I need to go to London," Hermione said, rather annoyed. "Damn bank."

\--oOo--

Her day dawned slowly, and Hermione had probably consumed more Elven wine than she should have had the night before, but she didn't care much about the hangover. She swallowed some muggle medicine and traveled via Floo. The Leaky Cauldron was the same as always, and Hermione didn't waste much time talking to anyone. She just wanted to go to the bank, deal with the vault issue, and find Harry for brunch.

The goblin who guided her was thankfully silent, which made the Gryffindor deeply grateful. She did not want to deal with small talk bullshit about the war, especially about the invasion of the bank that she and the rest of the trio had enacted, not to mention the destruction generated. The goblins were acting deeply dramatic about it, so it was expected that the protections around the bank would be increased. It was no surprise to Hermione when she was considered for the work, but she simply declined.

"Goniak wishes to ask you miss, why use another name that is not your own? Yours would open many doors," He asked, after reciting some spells in front of Hermione's vault.

The brunette was not very wealthy, she had money and was smart in investing and acquiring financial returns, but nothing like Harry. Hermione's vault was in a basement room 2, very close to the bank’s entrance and with much more modest security. Unlike the vaults of the “Sacred Twenty-Eight,” which were imbued with ancient magic and powerful protections. Invading the Lestrange’s vault was an achievement that unfortunately left Hermione marked by the goblins forever.

"I don't want to be recognized for my actions in the war. I just want to live modestly and be as invisible as possible, sir," Hermione answered tersely.

"Hm.” The goblin was quiet for a moment, until he pulled some parchment of his pocket. ”Well Miss Granger, now we need a drop of your blood on this parchment, so we can include any coins deposited under the name of ‘Regine Hergman’ into your personal vault." Hermione didn't hesitate, she put her finger on the magic seal, which made a tiny puncture on her little finger, and the blood was carried by magic in a line until it touched the black ink of the parchment. A few more spells were cast around the vault, which Hermione didn't fully recognize, but at the moment the usually curious soul was just feeling overwhelmed and wanted to leave.

Hermione strode out of the area. She just wanted to get out of this place and especially, _not_ to think about everything that had happened there. No thinking about her body turning into Bellatrix, and most of all, not thinking about the cursed mark on her arm. She was hyper-focused on the exit, accelerating her steps to finally reach the street and feel free of the claustrophobic feeling that the immense building gave her.

"Hermione!" Hearing her name being called, the brunette froze. She knew that voice and in part, even though she liked the person, wanted to distance herself from the perfection that the woman seemed to emanate and possess. The Gryffindor turned slightly, in search of an escape route, when the older, taller blonde woman stood in front of her with a wide smile on her lips. "Hermione! How nice to see you!" Fleur Delacour embraced her with affection.

"Hi Fleur, you look good," Hermione replied, somewhat tense. Fleur’s eyebrows furrowed at her friend's tone, but she quickly covered her expression with a smile. Fleur as always, was looking amazing and perfect. Hermione was in a constant struggle with herself, especially around Fleur. It was as if everything she felt suddenly improved and amplified around the French woman. She usually felt inadequate, to put it lightly. Fleur on the other hand, was gorgeous, with black formal pants, a frilly shirt, and a small black ribbon acting as a tie. She wore black 6 inch heels, which made the woman who was naturally a few inches taller even more so. So much so that when Hermione was hugged, she felt much closer to Fleur's breasts than she thought she should be. It was unfair that she, as a mother so recent as well, was so beautiful. "It's just veela blood," She had shrugged. 

"I haven't seen you in a while. You should come and have dinner with us in the next few days," Fleur said, and began to guide Hermione towards the exit, noticing how tense the brunette was standing there in the bank's entrance hall. "Vic is starting to walk and she would love to meet you. I know William would also like to see you again," She spoke warmly, and Hermione felt her heart break.

She internally panicked at the possibility of meeting Fleur's daughter. The little veela girl was perfect in the images Harry had sent to her, as the whole picture had been. Fleur had held a little blonde girl with blue eyes in her lap, who was about ten months old. The child leaned into her mother's arms, and pulled at her father's hair, who was beside them. Bill was grinning widely and poked at the little girl's belly, who was giggling charmingly, while Fleur rolled her eyes and smiled at both of them.

It was devastating to know that she would never have a chance to have something similar. After everything that happened, her body was too broken to be able to conceive. She hadn’t exactly been planning that far ahead during the war, but regardless, the choice was taken from her.

Fleur was a constant, painful reminder that Hermione was unable to maintain a romantic relationship long enough to even consider a family. The brunette smiled tightly in contrast to the veela smiling widely, watching her expectantly for a positive response to the dinner invitation..

"Sure, just owl me. But Fleur, I have to run. I need to do some shopping and find Harry for brunch." The blonde's eyebrows went up in surprise at the quick dismissal.

"Oh sure, I'll send you a message..." She responded tentatively, devoid of her previous joy, and Hermione felt like the worst person in the universe.

"Great, great. It was nice...to see you, Fleur," Hermione continued awkwardly, and hugged her very briefly, fast enough that Fleur couldn’t even hug back. The Gryffindor took a quick step from the blonde, and hurried away without looking back.

\--oOo--

Harry Potter was the same old, as always. Messy hair, thin build, green eyes, always kind and helpful. An easy smile on his face, and someone that Hermione considered her safe place. Hermione admired the constancy that the man possessed. But even he had his demons. They had been talking for about an hour at a tiny cafe in the muggle part of London.

Harry had long expressed a desire to form a new generation of Aurors, and perhaps someday teach. He was working in the ministry as an Auror now, but that was not exactly something he wanted to do anymore. He had explained that after so many assassination attempts against him, he just felt very much on guard, and very overwhelmed with his work. He had talked to Headmistress McGonagall to start teaching at Hogwarts, but when he arrived on the school grounds, he had suddenly panicked and apparated to the furthest place he could think of. That day, he appeared at the door of Hermione's home, weeping freely over the deaths that had occurred during the war. He wouldn't be able to teach as he liked, at least not at Hogwarts.

"So Mephisto Pheles himself invited you to teach DADA at Mahoutokoro?" Hermione repeated the information she just received with some disbelief. Not in disbelief at Harry's ability to teach classes, since she knew he would be incredible. But by Sensei Pheles, personally inviting Harry. The man was considered to be extremely reclusive, and was not known for socializing with others.

"I know, right? I'm also shocked by this, Mione!" He said incredulously, laughing a bit. Happiness fit Harry well. "But consider the opportunity! I can finally get out of the war spotlight and become a teacher, just like Lupin!"

"Let's just ignore the part in becoming a werewolf," Hermione replied, and they both laughed. "I know you need to get away, just like me. I have no way of asking you to stay, especially when I'm hiding in the Dolomite Alps." 

Harry sighed painfully, since he knew that Hermione was emotionally fragile and that she had a hard time asking for help. He himself had extended his hand seriously, many times, but each time he was declined. In part, he did not know how to help, and in the vast majority, he knew that Hermione was not ready to ask for help. But seeing his best friend so sad about his imminent departure for Japan made the Chosen One's heart break.

"I promise to write whenever possible and you can always visit! You’re the most brilliant person of our generation Hermione, I'm sure I could get a spot for you there too! I can speak to Meph-"

"No," Hermione cut him off. "I don't want to be a teacher, I never did. That's _your_ dream Harry, and I know you should go after it." Hermione smiled sadly. "I'm just going to miss you."

"I'm going to miss you too, Mione."

\--oOo--

Hermione popped in back at her home and went directly to her room. In a somewhat frazzled search, she pulled out a leather notebook and a muggle pen that she kept in the first drawer of her nightstand. She started to write instinctively. When she finally came to back herself, she read words that were stained with tears she didn’t remember shedding. 

_“People love pieces of me; fragments that they choose as ‘perfect’ or ideal and then they love those pieces. And I feel like in giving away these pieces of myself, little by little I get lost, trying to discover the parts that I should love. I do not find them, because I feel like something composed of parts cobbled together, that could easily be carried off by the wind. Abandoned, alone and lonely. I feel that I am cutting myself into small pieces, acceptable, palatable doses of myself, giving the image of security and affection. My heart breaks and recovers with every thought, I feel my body falling, my soul slowly disappearing, I feel myself, not being me anymore.’_

\--oOo--

Saying that Fleur Delacour lived a fairy tale life was just an understatement. The gorgeous blonde part veela had it all. After being named a Triwizard champion, and graduating from Beauxbatons, she moved to England to work part-time at Gringotts and got together with the man she loved, the talented Bill Weasley. Some time later, they married before the war started, and despite the horrible surroundings, they were able to live rather peacefully at Shell Cottage until that rainy night Harry appeared with Hermione, bleeding to death in his arms. 

Fleur had always maintained a mixture of respect and curiosity towards the younger brunette. The Gryffindor had overcome so much in so little time, always keeping Harry and Ron alive while being the best in her class. The French witch thought that Hermione was quite gifted as a magic-user as well, even more than herself, who graduated with honors from Beauxbatons. 

But there was also this nagging feeling in her gut that urged her to try to get to know the brunette better. There was certainly something about Hermione Granger that made Fleur Delacour crave being on good and friendly terms with her; something that intrigued her, but she only assumed that it was the aura of loneliness that Hermione exuded at times when the Gryffindor thought no one was looking. All in all, the younger witch was a mystery to the French woman, and Fleur had always loved to work through the layers of a good puzzle.

That rainy night, however, Fleur was not prepared to see Hermione on the brink of death. She made her drink a sleeping potion and got to work. She removed various shards of crystal slowly, and closed the Gryffindor’s wounds with rapid _episkeys_. Fleur would be informed later that a crystal chandelier had fallen partially on Hermione’s unconscious body, and several slivers had stabbed through the already marred skin of the young witch.

Fleur cursed when Hermione started shaking, her eyes rolled back into her head, and a thin line of blood trickled out of one of her nostrils. This was something the blonde witch had read in a book about curses and their after-effects. The signs were obvious, Hermione had been under the cruciatus curse, and due to the extent of her injuries, it was safe to assume that the younger witch had been heavily tortured, as well.

_Mon Dieu._

Fleur knew that she had to act fast if she wanted to keep Hermione alive. The blonde witch left her wand on a nearby table and closed her eyes. She started chanting in a foreign language and golden light started emanating from her hands. The moment she placed them above the unconscious Gryffindor, the shaking ceased, and Fleur sighed in relief as she was able to stop the seizure with veela _magie_. 

It was a temporary solution, but she really wanted to remove all those sharp shards puncturing the delicate skin of the Gryffindor. This time Fleur opted for a faster but more aggressive approach. After keeping her breathing steady, the French witch closed her eyes again and placed her hands facing up above Hermione’s stomach where the biggest shard was located, and took a deep breath before reciting what it sounded like an old and forgotten spell, and the chanting in the foreign language resumed.

The moment she raised her hands towards her chest, the golden halo of her _magie_ started pouring on Hermione and all the shards were lifted from the bleeding flesh and hovered above Fleur’s head. The French witch thanked all the goddesses that she had spent the summer before moving to London studying healing veela _magie_ under her grandmother Antoinette. She was a registered medi-witch, and decided on teaching her oldest granddaughter some spells that could save her life, as dark wizards were becoming more powerful all over the continent.

With a flick of her hand, Fleur moved the floating shards into a nearby wastebasket, and continued working on stabilizing the still unconscious Hermione. Blood started pouring from different places, and the blonde witch swallowed hard before assessing the situation as calmly as possible while recalling her grandmother’s words.

_Remember Fleur, the choices we make while tending wounds can save or end lives. That is why it’s critical to breathe and purify your magie before performing any complicated healing spell, even more if they are of veela origin._

After taking a few deep breaths to focus, Fleur raised her hands once more and placed them just above Hermione’s stomach as it was the wound that needed the most immediate attention. Her _magie_ turned into liquid gold that poured all over the bleeding gash. After a few seconds, the liquid covered the skin, and Fleur placed her hand on top of the smothered wound, while whispering several veela spells that lit the liquid magic enveloping the gash on the brunette’s stomach.

Suddenly, the deepest wounds reopened, and Fleur’s concentration faltered when Hermione’s magic started waning along with her heartbeat. Azure orbs opened in panic and widened at the blood pooling quickly around the still unconscious Gryffindor. 

“Merde! Non, non, non...” Fleur whispered to herself before attempting to cast wandless _episkeys_ that weren’t acting fast enough to close the wounds and stop the bleeding; not even dittany was helping at this point, and the French witch knew that only extreme measures would save Hermione now. She witnessed a thick and dark substance beginning to suppurate from some of the open wounds.

_Merde, dark curses. Only a balancing ritual will help her._

“ _Crann Bethadh,_ ” Fleur spoke clearly, and closed her eyes. Soon, her _magie_ started engulfing Hermione once more like a golden blanket, and the wounds started closing slowly. Even the whip marks lightened in color and turned into thin pinkish lines. Fleur winced when the roots of the _tree of life_ started appearing just above her left hip. The more she healed Hermione, the more the roots, trunk and branches became visible on Fleur’s skin.

Five thick roots formed and led to a thick and strong tree trunk. Four strong branches rose, reaching for the sky and several dark yellow leaves adorned them. The highest branch rested just below Fleur’s left breast and swayed softly.

Half of the magical tattoo turned into liquid and poured all over Hermione’s right side. Now half of the sacred tree was imprinted on her skin, the same position as Fleur’s but on inverted sides. The moment Hermione’s magic got back to normal, both half-trees vanished, and would only be visible by the use of veela _magie._

Fleur had not wanted to resort to something that extreme, but it was the only spell that came to mind that would stabilize Hermione’s magic and get rid of the dark curses, as old veela _magie_ was even more powerful. Fleur was now able to keep Hermione’s magic stable, as they were now linked by the most sacred symbol of Celtic veela, one that represented balance and harmony.

After that, it took Fleur a couple of hours to finally close all the wounds caused by the shards and a bit more to try to vanish all the scars scattered all over Hermione’s body. When she felt that Hermione was finally stable enough, the blonde witch fainted in exhaustion by the brunette’s side.

The French witch never left the unconscious Gryffindor’s side, and made sure that she ate something after she woke up screaming in pain the moment her nightmares haunted her. The sheets were soaked in her blood as her wounds reopened due to the sudden movements while fighting the demons in her mind. 

It took Hermione three days to regain consciousness and two more to be able to leave the room she had been resting in. Fleur tried to be as friendly as possible, but the wounded witch always kept her at arm’s length and barely replied when the blonde tried to start a conversation. 

“Perhaps you should keep a diary,” Fleur commented one night when she brought Hermione a tray with supper. “You know, for the nightmares.”

“Um,” Hermione turned to look at the gorgeous blonde and tilted her head, “I doubt that would help.”

“Look at it as a kind of catharsis, you know-”

“I _know_ what catharsis means,” Hermione snapped with a wince when her left arm jerked involuntarily. Despite Fleur’s best efforts, the Gryffindor’s nerves were still healing from the strain they were subjected to by Bellatrix and her cruciatus spells. “I’m sorry, it’s just..”

“I understand, don’t apologize ‘Ermione,” Fleur gave the brunette a small smile, and Hermione regretted her actions.

“We are leaving,” The brunette whispered, before she started playing with her food.

“You woke up not even a week ago and-” Fleur raised her voice, but Hermione was louder.

“We need to finish something that can’t wait,” the Gryffindor declared firmly.

“I-” Azure locked with amber, and Fleur just sighed in exasperation. “Just don’t get injured that badly again or even _I,_ with all my expertise, won’t be able to snatch you from death again.”

“Your jokes haven’t improved one bit, Fleur,” Hermione replied, and rolled her eyes.

“I am not joking, you insufferable child.” The blonde looked away with her nose up, and the brunette just raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Just eat your food.”

“Fine.” Hermione sighed and took a bite, and a satisfied Fleur left the room. That same night, Hermione Granger started writing in a diary that she would keep for years. The Gryffindor would never admit that it was Fleur’s suggestion, however. 

**Author's Note:**

> Mih here again: Hope you enjoy reading as much we enjoy writing!  
> Also, please let us know your feelings if you like, if you didn’t like, what you want to see next, what questions you have. Give us kudos and reviews! That makes the authors happy and writing!  
> Fran here again: Hey guys, this will be a wild ride for sure and, as Mih said, any suggestions or doubts will be answered, and thanks again for taking time to read our new project.


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